Frank liked his new computer. His son Jimmy bought it for his 65th birthday. It came fully loaded—and with all the peripherals to boot. It had a fast CPU and a big flatscreen monitor. You could listen to music or watch a movie on it, scan pictures, run them off on a nice colour printer, record your voice, chat on the webcam. It was a real beauty. Frank was having fun learning how to use it. And of course the most important thing was the fast internet connection. Jimmy had said there was no point in having a good computer if you don’t have a fast internet connection. They had an argument about which way to go—coax or dsl. Jimmy was all for dsl. But Frank’s buddy named Sam (who lived next door) had signed up for coax and said there was no comparison. The clincher came when Jimmy admitted he had shares in the phone company. There’s nothing like a conflict of interest to settle an argument. So there Frank was with his beauty of a computer and his fast internet connection spending all his spare time sitting in front of the glowing screen and clicking his way to a repetitive strain injury.
On Thursday evenings Frank and Sam went out for pints at the Cheshire Cat Pub. They’d been doing this for years and lately Frank had been using the evenings out to quiz Sam about the finer points of computing. Sam had bought a computer three years ago and really knew what he was doing. He taught Frank how to send emails so the recipient didn’t know who sent them, and how to empty the browser’s cache so your wife couldn’t figure out what web sites you’d been visiting, and how to post comments to blogs so they couldn’t be traced to your IP address. He was a real whiz.
Thursday after supper, Frank went next door to Sam’s to see if his friend was ready for an evening out. Delilah answered the door. She had her brows pulled close together. It might have been one of those facial treatments gone wrong—but more likely it was just worry. She said she hadn’t seen Sam all day. Normally he was downstairs at the computer long before she came down for breakfast. But his morning while the coffee was dripping she stepped into the den to say good morning but found no Sam. Only a glowing monitor displaying the last frame of a video about quarks. She shrugged and figured he’d gone for a stroll. When she came back a couple hours later there was still no Sam. But the monitor was on—this time displaying a web page that gave instructions on how to post a video to your blog.
Frank smiled at Delilah and told her not to worry. He’d been chatting online with Sam in the mid-afternoon. Obviously he was around. It was a simple matter of ships passing in the night. He told her she should make Sam get a cell phone and carry it with him wherever he went. He took pleasure in the fact that there was one piece of technology he had before Sam did. Again Frank told Delilah not to worry. He’d check in on her later, but he was sure Sam would turn up soon enough.
Back home, Frank sat at his computer and started to work up another post for his blog. Sam had been blogging for about a year now—www.tanksfordamemories.net—a blog about caring for tropical fish. The .net was a nice touch and Sam liked to laugh about it. Frank felt compelled to start his own blog so he registered www.frankswithfrank.net. Sam asked if he was going to blog about wieners but Frank scowled and said it was about stamp collecting. He wanted to do his bit to help promote a fading art. Problem was: it was fading so fast most people wouldn’t see the humour in his domain name. His mission was to educate people in the nefarious ways of philately so they would see the humour. He had written a little “About Me” piece and uploaded a picture of himself and included Sam’s site on his blogroll even though tropical fish have nothing to do with stamp collecting (except stamps with tropical fish on them). While he was waiting for Sam to get back, he would scan four or five sweet covers with military censorship markings on them. He wanted to write a post about keeping your eyes open. He had found the covers at a garage sale two blocks over. Some old lady had died and the family was trying to make as much stuff disappear as possible. Frank paid two dollars for a shoebox of old covers worth three or four hundred. Always keep your eyes open.
The evening whizzed by and once Frank had finished his post he realized he was tired and fading fast. He checked his watch. Damn! Almost eleven. He had forgotten to check in on Delilah. On a whim he turned on his IM client and sure enough Sam was there.
hey
hey
where u ben?
cant u type complete wrdz anymore?
Sam was always teasing Frank for trying to type the way Jimmy showed him—the way the younger crowd does—as if years of education r pointless.
but where u ben?
ben here all day—where u ben? thot we were goin out 4 drinks?
dropt by but del sed u out
no way! ben here whole time—wat the ??!!??!!
mebe she chkt wen u were in can? anyways glad u r there—so wat u ben doin?
on fb & set up myspace acct & uploading fish pix to flickr
oh
did u no fb got startup cap from cia operatives?
dont shit me
seriusly—posted all my real info then fnd this out—now im worried bout identity theft
u worry too much—dont let it eat away at u
Back and forth it went. Sam was a fast typer but Frank had thick fingers and the pads of his fingertips barely fit on the keys. When he typed “a” it usually came out “as” and when he typed “e” it came out “er”. “Thast’s as grerast ideras.” Which is why he preferred to chat via webcam. He turned it on and sent a message for Sam to do the same.
At first Frank thought Sam was joking. All he could see was the far wall with the TV and the shelves that displayed bowling trophies and aquarium club awards.
Where you at, buddy? Frank asked.
Right in front of you. What the hell’s the matter with you?
Frank rubbed his eyes and stuck his face closer to the screen. There was a faint line of distortion running through the image. When he traced it he saw that it followed the shape of his friend’s skinny profile. This time Sam had outdone himself.
How’d you do that?
Do what?
The webcam effect. What is it? Some kind of special effects software?
What’re you talking about?
Is it green screening? Is that it?
Talk sense to me Frank.
Sense? Take a look at the image. It’s a beauty.
There was a ripple through the image of Sam’s den and Frank saw the outlines of arms rising to shoulder height and fingers pointing in accusation. Then the arms stopped. What the … with hands splaying, first with palms toward the webcam, then with backs of the hands. Frank … Sam’s voice was quiet now and it held the slightest trace of a quaver. Frank …
What is it buddy?
I can see the goddam webcam right through my hands.
Very cute, Sam.
I’m serious, Frank. His tone had risen to panic. What the hell’s happening to me?
Frank heard the click of Sam’s mouse. Then: phhhhhhht. The distortion disappeared. All he could see was the far wall of Sam’s den.
Sam?
There was no answer.
Sam?
Everything was silent on the other end. Then Delilah stepped into the room. Her flabby midriff passed the webcam as she settled herself into Sam’s chair. She yawned then squinted at the screen.
Facebook! Always wasting his time on that damned facebook.
She reached to the power button and everything disappeared.
Phhhhhhht.